When Red is Black

come true.”
     
    “I don’t know what to say.”
     
    “You are doing me a great favor, I mean it, Chief Inspector Chen.”
     
    But Chen remained disturbed for a long while after the phone call, staring at the translation on the desk. It was not just by the noise of the man working in the bathroom, although installing the unit in the bathroom seemed to be very complicated, with some long pipes involved. It might take quite a while for the workman to finish.
     
    In addition to those upstarts in the private business sector, Party officials or cadres also had begun to obtain these modern devices for their apartments. It was not hard for people to notice such widespread corruption, and they pointed angry fingers at the privileged few. Chen himself had complained about this.
     
    But some things might take place in a “gray area,” Chen reflected. An emerging Party cadre like himself had to make connections for his work, connections like Mr. Gu. And with such connections came other things. In China, in the last analysis, connections meant everything. Guanxi.
     
    He checked himself from speculating further along those lines. For the moment, he had no alternative but to concentrate on the New World proposal. Sometimes, we could be most productive under pressure. He dashed through two pages before he allowed himself to take a short break.
     
    The heater had already started working with a light whirring sound. As in the New World, where, whatever the appearance of the exterior, modern luxuries inside would be necessary. His fingers seemed to be moving deftly over the keyboard with a new rhythm. Looking out the window, he saw another apartment complex looming up not too far away. A lonesome tung tree trembled in the chilly wind. He turned back resolutely to the text on the computer screen.
     
    The New World could turn out to be like present-day China, full of contradictions. On the outside, the socialist system under the rule of the Communist Party, but on the inside, capitalist practice in whatever disguise.
     
    Could the combination of the two really work?
     
    Perhaps. No one was in a position to tell, but it seemed to have been doing fine so far, in spite of the tension between the two. And in spite of a price too—the ever-increasing gap between the poor and the rich.
     
    The rich had already started to be concerned with Shanghai’s existential myth—the Paris of the Orient, the glitter and glory of the thirties—part and parcel of the superstructure to be erected on top of a socialist economic basis, the former justifying the latter, and vice versa, just like one of the Marxist principles Chen had studied in college.
     
    For people like Gu, as well the consumers he anticipated, once the economic basis was established, a brave New World could, and perhaps should, exist. But what about the poor, who in the real world could hardly keep their pots boiling?
     
    He was not meant to be a philosopher or economist, Chen reminded himself. He was nothing but a cop who happened to be translating a business proposal relating to the history of the city.
     
    When the installer finally left, taking the cigarette Chen offered him and placing it behind his ear, Chen found the translation slowing down mysteriously. The new section dwelled on marketing plans in the context of globalization. He had no problem understanding the Chinese text, but he was not so sure about the exact English equivalents. Nor was it just a matter of looking up words in a dictionary, for it involved a number of new concepts, which had hardly existed in the Chinese language previously. Within the socialist state economy, for instance, “marketing” was a non-existent concept. State-run companies simply kept manufacturing in accordance with the state plan. There was no need or room for marketing. For many years, Chinese people cited a proverb: If the wine smells really wonderful, customers will come in spite of the length of the lane. Such an approach was not applicable to today’s business world.
     
    Perhaps that was one of the reasons why—if Gu’s story was true—the first translator had failed.
     
    Chen made himself a cup of tea. The room seemed cozy, almost intimate, with the heater purring next to the bookshelf.
     
    White Cloud was scheduled to come in the afternoon. He looked in his notebook. She might help to find the definitions he needed in a new dictionary, but that would not be enough. As far as he knew, the latest